John Stevens' Courtship: A Story of the Echo Canyon War

by Susa Young Gates

"Did you notice if they had two or three girls with them? They had a grown daughter of their own, and Ellen Tyler came down with them. I was wondering if she sat on the front seat."

This was said as indifferently as it was possible, for John did not want to arouse unnecessary suspicion or cause unnecessary talk.

"Well, I can't say that I noticed. They had the wagon cover tied up at the sides, and there were women or girls inside, for I heard them laughing and singing as they passed by our fence."

This was cheering, and John consented, although somewhat reluctantly, to accept the Bishop's kindly invitation to stop and have some dinner, for he realized the women ought to eat, even if it were impossible for him to do so. It took some time for the worthy Bishop's wife to cook dinner, and she was very anxious to get the best she had, for John Stevens was an old friend, and he had done them many a good turn. Good as the dinner was, no one seemed able to eat much, although John drank some of the rich, cold milk which the Bishop's wife brought up from the springhouse.

It was past three o'clock when they left Lehi, and there were twenty miles to drive to Provo. But John's team was a fine one, and at seven o'clock in the evening, just at the early spring dusk, as they neared the edge of the bench overlooking Provo, they all strained with hungry, eager eyes at the little town stretched along the river bottoms, and each hoped and tried to believe that the object of their search was sheltered beneath one of those low, friendly roofs.

Diantha told herself that when she got hold of Ellen she would squeeze her and pet her until she would never need the love of another person. She would never leave her side again, for she would either forsake her own home to live with Ellen, or she would coax Aunt Clara to let Ellen live with her. And oh, what would she not do to make Ellen happy! She remembered that Ellen did not like to make beds, or wash dishes. Well, she would never have that to do again, for she would take all that work off Ellen's slender hands. She did not mind it, and Ellen should never have to do anything she disliked again.

On the other hand, the more experienced head of Aunt Clara was cogitating about the possible future when they found and brought the dear wanderer home, and she decided that Ellen must take up and faithfully perform some of the disagreeable things which all her life she had slighted and slipped over. She felt that perhaps she, herself, had favored Ellen too much, in that she had allowed her to please herself always, and that too, often at the expense of the comfort and rights of others. She saw now that what Ellen needed was not less affection, but more discipline, to learn that happiness does not consist in gratification of one's own wishes and desires, but in the cheerful sacrifice of self for the good and comfort of others. She realized now that her Ellen had that inner selfishness clothed with an outer lavish extravagance which deceives and entices the best of casual friends. Ellen would give up anything but her own vain pleasures. Aunt Clara had become so accustomed to sacrificing herself for those around her, that she began to fear lest she had thus deprived others of that chastening discipline. She resolved again and again that she would take up another line of action with her loved child, who was as dear as if she had been her own offspring.

John's thoughts were too deep to be discernible from his composed yet pale face, and he said nothing, unless questioned by the others, but guided his team with a firm yet gentle hand.

The low door of the Harpers' home opened at John's knock, and the girl Jenny, herself, opened it.

"Ellie Tyler? Oh, no, we haven't seen her. She said Saturday in meeting that she might come down with us, or she would come with the Meachams, and she has promised to spend one week with me. I guess she is on the road with the Meachams."